Slice of Forgiveness
by glittergoddess13
Summary: Ripe with guilt, a memory sheds light that not everything in Hell was darkness as Dean believes. When faced with an old enemy-, his actions change the course of his fate. How being himself never stopped even in pit. Angst! LimpDean! PainedDean! LimpDean
1. Lost

**Author's note: This is going to be a short one (3-4 chapters) and I hope you enjoy this. I kinda feel the recent episode was very unDean like and was disappointed. Since I had this idea, I wanted to redeem Dean just a bit to the man we love watching each week. It may be just me, but I hope you like it.**

* * *

The sun ascended, cramming the sky with a stunning myriad of colored light. The first ray warmed Dean's pale face as he stared blankly out the windshield at the sleepy back roads of Nebraska. Even the rhythm of the road droned to a low hum, matching the sounds of breath forcing in and out of his lungs. The world dwelled in cherished, loyal silence. Somehow, in this time, he could shut out the voices inside his head where shouts, screams, and agony didn't exist.

Once when Sam caught him staring out at the open road, he told his little brother he was thinking, but he wasn't. He was doing nothing- just blissful numb nothing. A time when he blocked out all sounds, smell, sensations. On more than one occasion, he had driven several hundred miles with no recollection at all.

He'd come to count on this moment. Maybe it was a reassurance he was alive and maybe deserved to be that way. Then like always the thoughts would creep. It had been several days since he told Sam about the monster he had become in Hell. Sam wasn't shocked, demanding, or even sympathy. The news had come over his little brother in what Dean would call numbness.

Then there were so many questions. Why did they bring me back? How can I help anyone when I can't help myself? What have I become? The things I've done. The horrors in my head. The grief was suffocating him, which he found a bit ridiculous to mourn for the souls he punished with such glee down in the pit. Sorrow was a constant companion that was all too familiar. Since the age of four, he had seen it in varying degrees, witnessing too many losses, personal and otherwise, with the tragedy he saw every day.

He come to expect that nagging emotion to dwell in some dark corner inside him, but he always could ignore it and focus hard on the job at hand. That's what he had to do now. So here he was, on the road with Sam at his side, driving hard and fast to the next case- the next town- with the next hope of stopping the madness inside him. When he was on the hunt, he could push it down and almost make himself believe he was on the road to redemption. Yet, he couldn't imagine anything that could be measure for measure. Guilt waited for him, stalked him. When it came back, it would kick him square in the gut, leaving him breathless. Worse, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to keep it away. Somehow, he kinda felt he deserved it.

Barely managing on a daily basis to shower, dress, eat, and put on a good face for Sam. Going through motions that were meaningless, Dean often caught Sam giving him a suspicious look, but his little brother didn't ask too much. He was thankful for that. When Sam pried, he would accept an "I'm fine" response and leave the deep scarring scab alone.

A loud groan from Sam brought him back to today and he shook his head to blur the dark thoughts once more.

Hey. What time is it?" He spoke in a yawn making the words sound more like disjointed grunts.

"Early."

"Things alright?"

"Yeah. Just hungry."

Sam indentified the quaver of avoidance in Dean's words, knowing well his brother's vulnerabilities and pain. "Considering you didn't eat dinner last night, I'd say that was a good idea."

"I didn't?" He thought he was so careful to force himself to eat enough to quell any suspicious Sam had.

"You do it a lot since-" Sam stuttered.

"Sorry." He hushed the word as if it pained him.

"What for!"

"I really don't know. Can we leave it at that?"

"Dean?"

"Please."

"Only if you eat breakfast."

"Deal."

**

* * *

**

Hours later at the Elk Motor Court...

"Want pie?"

"Nah."

"Uh. I'll just surprise you." Sam frowned, but forced his voice to jovial tones. "Course that truck stop food may end up surprising us later in more ways than we want."

"Sure, Sam."

"I'll be back and after a days rest, we'll hit the road again."

"Nah, we'll crack on after grub."

"I rented this place and for damn sure we're going to use it. Man, I'm spent- wiped- Evander Holyfield could use me as a punching bag and I wouldn't feel it. I need a good night's sleep. If you don't than I'll pick up some lame ass horror flick for you while I'm out."

"Sounds good, Sam." A strange wheezing sigh heaved at Dean's shoulder.

With the slightest of head nods, Sam coughed. "Get some rest and I'll be back soon." As he shut the door, Sam wondered how he could make the pain of Dean's time in Hell go away. It would almost be worth giving into demon blood just to wash Dean whole again.

"Just go, Sam." Dean ordered. "I won't break while you're gone." That seemed to appease Sam enough since he heard the long strides of his brother moving away from the door. "I know you mean well."

He knew Sam couldn't understand. Dean's job was to save, but he'd ripped souls apart. How could you make that all right! He'd committed the worst sin of all! He'd become like the demons. Growing so numb, he doubted if he could tell who he tortured down there. What if they were poor slobs like him? Had he ripped apart someone who sold to save a kid with cancer- a person with no other sin but loving too hard?

Forcing in another breath, his head hung lower, tracing the design of the threadbare carpet with his foot, digging at one wear spot. Then just out of the corner of his eye, he noticed it. A red covered book peeked a single corner from under the nightstand leg.

He didn't know why his fingers reached for it as if drawn to it. Without forethought, the well-worn bible found a way to his grasping hand. Banging it against one open palm, he muttered, shaking his head until a couple of words came out clear. "Gideon's. Swear they are everywhere."

He'd see the book a thousand times before in a thousand hotels, but this one was ancient in motel standards. More times than not, he'd seen bright shiny new ones in a night stand drawer. Aware of how many Bibles disappeared from hotels, he wondered how this one managed to stay so long. Moreover, he felt kindred with the tea colored edges of the pages was beyond his comprehension. His fingers stuck to one side, just briefly, in what appeared to be strawberry jam. When he opened a brightly single crayon- blue- splattered over the pages. Yet through the waxy art attempt, he skimmed over a still readable passage.

"Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.** "**

"Yeah right!" He tossed the book aside. "Nothing could ever make me clean. Nothing! I don't deserve this. Not after what I've done. Nothing good came out of Hell!"

"Does that include you?" Castiel's voice echoed.

An involuntary groan. "You sure know when to get on my last nerve. Go away. I'm not in the mood for your missions or vague warnings or threats." When he looked up, he was still alone and he convinced himself he was so tired he had to be hearing things. "If only I did some good down there. If I held out just a bit more, I could live with myself."

Dean closed his tired green eyes, which smothered to a horary slate more than a vibrant jade these days. He sighed once, rising his shoulders one after the other. That's when the hot, stinging tears came. His heart finally caved to the concealed turmoil, drumming out a strong rhythm like hoof beats. The Sheer adrenaline rush that had kept him going for a long time faded. With a deep, charged breath, he sniffed back his emotions.

He let his tired head rest against the headboard. Crying out in anger, sorrow, and guilt, he craved not to feel way he did. "Wonder what forgiveness feels like?" He flopped there, unmoving, letting all roll around him, and losing himself.

Following the blue colored lines as they merged and twisted about the page, a thought crossed his mind. A memory of something he buried in all his guilt and self-doubt suddenly resurfaced in full strength. His breathing accelerated as the hell came back to haunt him.


	2. Gift

"Why don't you look at his face, my boy?" Alistair spoke with intoxicated rancor. "Relish the fear build in your victim- the way they buckle and twist to escape- the begging- how powerful does it make you feel?

For the briefest moment, Dean peered to the face of an old man, who wept as if tears could heal the wounds Dean had so acceptingly inflicted.

"The subtle shift in their expressions when they realize Hell is real and more demanding of their pain than they imagined. Deep down part of them believes it can stop- will stop. And that's the beauty; it never does. Do you not feel the power of hatred?"

"Yes!" The hordes of injustice, done to him in Hell and on earth swelled in him, branching out like veins breathing not life, but astringent darkness until his anger gorged like a bloated tick. No one had ever cut him a break. No slack whatsoever. Pain- maybe, this was all there was.

"Then show me. Or do you not find him pleasing? Perhaps you need someone more vicious. You've been such a good little drone, I think it's time for you to move to the bigger ones."

Dean felt a warm current- the darkest of stains- arch into him, draining him beyond the point of caring about anything. He vacantly numbed as demons swung another soul upon his rack.

"I have a special treat for you." Alistair's voice seethed in a strange softness as if he was about to offer Dean milk and cookies from his very own gingerbread house.

"No… Please... you promised." A woman screamed. "I did what you want." Dragging her kicking carcass, they held her before Dean as he wiped his blade clean. "NO… it' can't. You can't. Dean! You have to help me! Get me out of here!" All pretenses of polish that she once held dear had been stripped from her, making her hard to recognize.

If he registered the voice upon hearing it, he didn't acknowledge it. The never-ending punishment had zombified him to the point he had forgotten his own name, buried it deep inside where the hurt didn't happen. He didn't like to think about the past; no amount of Hell could make him do that. So when she was brought before him, she was just another piece of flesh.

Even under the best terms, it wasn't as if Bella Talbot had made herself welcome in his company, but she expected some recognition. When the curved, double spiked edged hooks thundered into her flesh with an unforgiving rip, she pitched a scream that shattered some of his awareness.

"Bella?"'

"Ah? Now you see how generous I am. I've always give the best presents."

"No, Dean. Don't!" She begged with a sniveling that only made Dean want to hurt her more.

"You hate her, don't you?"

"Yes!" They had broken him. That he knew for sure. Every shred of bliss or goodness he had vanished by now. There wasn't even a memory of anything good- not even a smidge. He let his memories of her roll inside his mind, making him hate her all the more. She reminded him he one had life in his veins- once had something he thought precious enough to be in this pit. Suddenly the knife in his hand moved with powerful strokes. Part of him thirst for this more than even an end to his own pain.

"Good, boy." Alistair burned with satisfaction. "I think I hit a nerve," he whispered loudly Dean's ear. "You want this so badly. You can make her suffer as she did to you."

Dean brushed the blade, which bent in a scythe shape until it morphed into a serrated edge like a jack-o-lantern's carved grin, against Bella's bruised cheek.

"What have they done to you? This isn't how you are…. The sanctimonious do-good good Winchesters!"

"Ahh, how sweet. Not anymore. In case you want to know, she's still the same- Liar! User! She was off the rack in a day- begging for her own thankless soul"

"You can't do this."

"Listen little miss, it took me over 30 years to break him and you don't have anything better to offer him." Alistair's cold palm lashed hard on her face. She flinched as her hand rushed to cover the sore he had just made, pulling at the hook into her flesh.

"30 years! You held on for years?" She shuddered as Dean took a looming step towards her. She could see the rage in his eyes and the malice in the planes of his face.

"Not everyone is like you, caving in so quickly."

"But how did you?"

"How many times have you thought about your hands around her neck- putting a gun to her head- carving away at her- watching her die for what she's done. Now's your chance. To exact revenge on her and all she can do is take it."

"But, you promised. Never again! Alistair you promised me I –"

"I lied."

Her eyes flicked from Dean, to Alistair, and to the weapon clutched in Dean's hand. She locked on Dean's face- the same handsome features, but his eyes were frozen, locked, and cold. That stare stirred a tremble, which she could not stop from forming and taking over her form.

His hands lashed out, driving the weapon in flesh- ripping- and in bone- cracking.

She opened her mouth in a deafening scream as he drove the hard steel into her. Plunging and mutilating, he divided her flesh, letting her pleads give him power as he stabbed the maddened knife over and over. His hands worked the blade in numerous passes over her flesh, slashing indiscriminately. And as he stopped, he only paused to hear her whimper. "Do you want to scream for me again?"

"Don't!" She managed to breathe. "Dean, please think about this. Please. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I…. I just wanted to live. Please I didn't know. Forgive me."

"Bah! There is no forgiveness here. She kept you from being saved. Lead you here with her thoughtlessness. "

"I didn't mean to!" She pressed her lips tightly together, fearing what he would do.

He pressed the curve of the blade to her lips, and she fell silent. Then from under the weapon, she whispered. "Sam's still out there. How would he-.

"SHUT UP!" He punched her face with the knife handle, the impact crunching her nose and upper jaw into shards.


	3. Sorry

"It may have taken time to get you to see my way, but you are an excellent student. You will march on humanity as no other before you- slaughter the pigs in our name." Alistair's chest puffed out like an overfilled Macy's balloon.

Yet, Dean didn't notice or care. His throat closed by a big lump, his eyes unfocused. The sudden hush of his brother's name suffered him like a plague in his vacant mind. He recoiled, sweat running down his face as shame filled him. He couldn't recall the last time he thought of Sam. It had been 40 years. He had never seen his little brother here, so maybe he was alive in his 60's with grandkids at his feet. On the other hand, had Sam passed on to something better? Either way, the thought of never seeing Sam again skewered him hard- heated vapor to an unsealed wound. He had shut his mind to memories, locking that small part of him away. Now, it banged at him a gypsy moth battling to get out of a sealed jar.

Then as if he realized the monster he could become, Dean gasped. The only way he could find Sam was to have him in this pit- to watch Sam suffer as he had. The sheer idea repulsed him. If he could vomit, he would have pitched and spewed until his guts splattered on the floor as in a bad B horror movie. Having no real body, as it was, he belted a wild consuming cry, which ripped from the bowels of his soul.

Thorough the blood, Bella gurgled as words sounded more like water than a human speaking. She lowered her voice to a half-whisper. "I'm- I'm- sorry."

"Too late. She took you from Sam. She's the one that left him all alone-- In pain without you." He let out a cold laugh.

Dean let his hands whirl in the blood covering his weapon, rolling it over his fingers. His hands, shaking nervously, caressed the ugly, blood covered blade. "No," he said with a voice that could have turned hellfire stone cold. All of a sudden, there seemed to be a change in temperature and he shivered.

"She left Sam wallowing in sorrow. She got in your way when it meant the most. You do this and you are ready. Ready to fight for us- out there. You want that."

" S….sss…sorry," she cried out desperately against the chains in her flesh. She lifted her face and stared into his eyes.

As if something timeless and ageless expanded in his eyes, some of the hardness splintered. The word sorry prickled a pain that even Hell could match. The tender, timid voice of a ten-year-old splattered, running and dripping over the corners of his mind. "I'm sorry, Dean." was the first words that berated him, just as clear and just as sorrowful as the day Sam said them.

* * *

***************

1993….

Finally, Dean managed to drag himself back to the dump he'd been calling pseudo home- just another half-assed, cheap, and dreary motel- until John decided it was time to haul and leave again. Leaning heavily upon the door, he straightened his spine, acting as if he still had some resolve to fake strength after what happened tonight.

"Wait, Dean!" Sam called out. "Wait."

After a few minutes of trying to catch his breath, Dean muttered, sucking up all the pain inside him. "Go to Hell." So, he entered, a fake smile on his face, but all of it unnessecary. John was gone, per usual. With a long drawn out sigh, he let his pretense fall, washing away the imposter guard of his usual swagger. As he shuffled to his bed, struggling to keep quiet at the very least, Dean pinched his lips shut to cease a single emotion from escaping.

"Dean?" The name came out in a confused soft squeak from the doorway, still gaping open from Dean forgetting to shut it. Of course, he knew Sam was on his heels now, after Sam saw that Lamia scratched open his back. At least, he got the bitch. His Dad would be proud about that. One person is his family would be proud- not Sam- of course not little perfect brother, who had picked tonight as one of his defining defiance moments. "Good work." He snarled. For all he cared, Sam could have just kept on running.

The voice barely registered through heavy breaths, which Dean tried to pass over with a fake calmness. A tear escaped his eyes as he pulled his knees up to his chest, hiding from Sam's inquires. Shifting, instead of answering, Dean pushed his face as close to the wooden wall, letting the wound on his back do all the talking.

"Why won't you talk to me?" The lamp on the nightstand flickered to life after Sam turned it twice. The oddity of Dean's behavior forced the back of his neck to prickle.

"Nothing to say." He wiggled tighter, willing his limbs to suction and somehow fuse to his body. Shrugging away, Dean shook his head. "Don't you have some place you're supposed to be?"

"I-- I'm sorry. I just can't take this."

"Go sleep before Dad comes home."

"I don't care if Dad comes home. Let him!"

"That's right, Sammy-"

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry. I forgot you were too grown up for your big brother now. You think you know everything."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah, that why you bolted tonight. Do you know dangerous that was- in the middle of a training hunt, you left me."

"I didn't think you would get hurt. You-"

"You don't think- ever- only of yourself. I won't go after you again. You walk out- you run, you keep going cause I'll-"

"What! Hate me."

"I already do. Now, go away." His voice shook, a sound he loathed, sounding weak and frail.

"How can you say that?" Sam's face fell.

"You don't want us. You practically spit on what we do. What happened to our Mom."

"MOM! Mom's dead! AND I HATE HER! She left us. We have to do this- get hurt- cause of her."

"Shut up! You know what, next time you run, I'll pack for you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed a bright red still seeping at shoulder of Dean's t-shirt. "We need to look at that. Take off your shirt."

"Get off me. Go do your precious homework or something! Better yet, put yourself up for adoption to some nice normal family."

"Do it or I'll tell Dad."

"You wouldn't! You little squealer! Dad's okay as long as you get your way. Right?"

"I will!"

A rapid boil anger rose inside him, twisting his body without thought but extreme effort. He groaned, pulling at a tender muscle below his rib cage, yet he raised a fist, arching high. Just when he inched the clenched paw at Sam, Dean redirected cracking it against the faux wood wallboard. "Figures, little turncoat." He huffed with unceremonious disdain. The timbre of his breath changed to defeat- as if boxed in by the only person he wanted to be there for him. "None of us are worthy of Sam Winchester. Guess I'm not worth it."

"Why would you say that!?" Sam's head lowered, dragging down to basset hound proportions.

"Doesn't matter." His lips barely moved the flat sound from them. "Leave me alone, will ya?"

"Does to me. Chewing on his lower lip, Sam looked at the floor and shrugged. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do. I here, let me see how bad she got you. I want you to be okay. "

"Running away tonight really shows that, huh?"

"It hurts too much. I can't make it. Not like you."

"You think this is easy for me!?" He turned, glaring at Sam, but his face was skimming fear. "Every time Dad leaves could be for good. I'm alone all the time, making decisions for you and me- keeping us fed and safe. You're all I have. Mom died to save you."

"She did?"

"And now you think it's okay to leave me too?" Dean carried nothing but hatred for the thing that murdered his mother and the way it had changed his father. Living in fear that Sam would be taken next. However, his little brother wasn't taken by some demon, but hate of his family.

"Come with me. I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want you to hurt anymore."

"Well, you did. I get it. You don't need me anymore.'

"Dean? Please. I'm sorry."

"Good for you."

Sam sniffled, trying to say the right thing.

"If you hate us that much, then go. I never-- I never wanted this for you. You're all I got."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"I would never leave you Sam- nothing will ever make me stop, but I know you don't feel that way about me." Dean ceased speaking before he got too emotional

"It's not true. I didn't want to leave you."

"Go to bed before Dad gets home. I've listened enough."

"But, I love you. I'm sorry."


	4. Forgive

"You see what she has done." Alistair shook his shoulder, jarring Dean's thoughts back. "Skin her. Make her bleed. Make her beg you to stop."

Dean grew quiet. He swaggered back from Bella as his appearance bleached albino white. All he can hear Sam's voice and the promise he made to never leave him. Yet, here he was as far as he could be from his brother. Things with them changed after that night. He'd never fully admitted it, but in the hellish light, he wondered if, in some small way, he had pushed Sam away just as much as their father had. John and Sam fought more. Dean cared a bit less. He realized he should have turned to his little brother that night, forgave him, and reassured him it was all going to be okay. Was it his coldness that made Sam prefer to run away? In all these years, he never really thought about it. He pushed Sam away.

If he could take it all back, relive that moment- "I forgive you, Sammy." He mouthed the words in a slur. If Sam hated who they once were, he would surely despise what Dean was now. He could live, he could die and suffer, with anything else but disapproval in Sam's eyes.

In some small way, Dean finally understood he had accepted the hunting life, embraced it, convinced himself that was all there was to life. He had been wrong. When he looked back, he didn't see demons, ghosts, and creatures, he saw his family: How 4-year-old Sammy made a mess with pancakes; How John brought him countless glasses of juice when he was sick; How Bobby picked at him when he was feeling stress; How Sam always let him control the tunes; How they raided vending machines like tiny pirates; How they put firecracker off one night when John got up to take a piss. His mind crammed full of more memories like these and he smiled, even chuckled. All the little things he missed were glaring now, staring him down. His family, messed-up, muddled, and battered as it was, had loved him. By God, he loved them.

"Come on, boy. You want to make her pay for losing you Sam, don't you? You lost everything because of her."

"No, she didn't."

"You want to gut her, watch as she screams."

"Yeah, I do. For- for everything she did- for everyone she screwed over to get ahead, but Sam's not her fault. He's mine. I did that!"

"Please." She cried every agonizing second- silent tears streaming down her face with deep heaving sobs that seemed to push out of her broken face. When he approached again, she flinched, but Dean yanked the hooks out of her, holding her in his arms. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his chest.

"What is this sentiment? I thought you knew better by now!"

"Why… why are you…." Bella moaned.

"Cause, it's who my Dad and brother taught me to be."

"Oh, I think I may lose my lunch."

"BACK OFF!" Dean lashed out with the black blade in his hand, carving at Alistair and his legion, at least until they overpowered by sheer force of numbers. Bella ripped from his grasp as he was thrown the opposite direction. His limbs swept up in a force unseen and he dangled froze before the grand master of torture, Alistair, who reclaimed the implement of torture from his once prized pupil.

"Stupid fool! You can't care about her!"

"No. I hate her with everything I have, but you know why? Cause she is heartless- only thinking of herself. Sam once told me we hate the parts of others we see in ourselves. And I don't want her or you as part of who I am. Not anymore. I did this for Sam and you can't take that from me. I won't- I won't let you have everything."

"Haven't you learned anything?"

"Yeah, I did." He said softly.

"Whatever you got into that head-"

"Pancakes, firecrackers, and juice." As soon as he saw the blades ready to carve him, he braced, remembering well how it felt before. "Cold nights, unfinished homework, fruit loops…" he muttered under his breath as blades sank into him. To the demons, the words were gibberish of a broken mind, but somewhere perhaps Sam and his Dad were looking down on him, smiling and remembering too. That, and only that, made all the difference to him.

Alistair ripped the knife blade deep inside of Dean's abdomen. "STUPID BOY!"

"Always was." Dean shook his head. "I won't do it."

"You think you can just erase her sins with your measly efforts. Someone will always take your place."

"Doesn't matter. I won't do it anymore. I can't live-

"You're dead!"

"I can't die every day like this. If she suffers because of me, I won't be the cause of her pain."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Before he could speak again, a legion of demons leapt down on him, thrashing him about like a beach ball in a hurricane.

Beyond fear, Dean pitched. Sometimes lost in a fog of weariness so deep, he could almost imagine driving with his brother in the Impala as if delirium could deliver him for a moment. When he wasn't screaming, he simply was pushed beyond the brink of vocalizing his suffering. As they finished with him, his body hoisted back to the rack- his punishment for defiance. He lobbed his head against a hard chain, soaked by sweat and blood.

"Guess we have to start over. Do you know how many of these people carry burdens of your family- the sins against your very own flesh?" Enraged, Alistair pinned hands around Dean's neck, watching with pleasure as Dean gasped receiving all the punishment he deserved. He followed with a strong backhand came down across Dean's face.

"Do what you want." He slumped, craving relief that he would not let show. He fell to the ground shattered when Alistair finally let go of him. Not able to hold back, a single tear leaked, tracing a path down his freckles. "I forgive her."

"NO! NO! YOU CAN'T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Alistair screamed.


	5. Slice

At first, and rightly so, Dean didn't believe the strange sensation leaking inside of him as if tiny prick points pierced his body until it felt like thousands of worms crawling about his skin. He had healed many times before like a painful rebirth in a field of razors, yet once the scrimping sensation abandoned his body, a soothing calm radiated around him- in him almost to a point he felt drunk within. Somewhere, a presence lingered, or more aptly a lack of presence- there but unformed.

Iridescent light, milky like pearls, bathed around him in a perfectly formed glass globe effect, shielding him from snarls of demon's just beyond. When he peered out into the pit, he could distinguish the form, but they looked as if someone had run paint thinner on them in brash, violent strokes.

In that moment, he turned, glanced at Bella through the bubble, and wondered what plans the demons had from them both. However, she wasn't quite there, not herself in any sense. She had grown opaque and whole, and then just as strangely she faded in a ball of whiteness. He might have asked questions at this juncture, but Alistair screeched in an ungodly horrified way.

Then the affliction cultivated, branching out as if a sickness were spreading to Hell's denizens. When it stopped, Dean noticed tiny holes in the torture chamber where souls use to be. He counted at least ten before a voice spoke to him, distracting him from his thoughts.

"Do you know what you have done?"

"I won't- won't...."

"You'll have no punishment from me. I've come for you."

His lips moved in an answer without defiance or smart comment, just acceptance that pain was automatic. Just as he made ready for it, he glanced down at strangeness around him as it congealed, forming a structured hand- not human, but five elongated rays of light.

He told himself he should be afraid of being ravaged by a new form of monster, but he wasn't. Pain was pain. Torture equaled torture. They couldn't take his memories. He would always have their safety, but somewhere along the way, he had made himself forget when the sharpness of their absence only served to gut him. Equally as inexplicable was why Bella Talbot kicked open the small piece of him that he had kept hidden. Why had one of the worse people he had ever known been able to get in? Then he guessed a spade always recognized a spade. In some way, he did have something in common with her. They both hard guarded the pretenses to who they really were. Unlike Bella, his heart beat for family and not self.

"The miracle is not hers." The voice spoke again.

"I don't understand."

"Since the beginning, when sin first fell to the world, in this place there have been those that enslaved for no other reason than self guilt. Reaching for the ones they wronged to find them with love's forgiving light, yet none found what they seek in desperation."

"I don't care if you like it. I won't be this anymore." Dean stared in wonder, noting he was surrounded by more than one of these creatures, whom spoke with one another in words Dean could not understand and in a language all their own.

"In the depths of the pit, you found light. You are the one and are ready."

"One what?" He muttered, half falling to his knees, but swaggering as if drunk.

"In time."

"Time for what?"

"For you- for Sam."

"Time's gone for me."

The fingers of light gripped over his shoulder with a sizzle. Again, his body shifted rapidly, moving under another's power. The further they went, the more it seemed the hand would rend his arm from his socket.

----

"LET GO!" Dean screamed, his brow throbbed, pulsating up and down and pushing sweat to collect in the hairs of his eyebrows. A tear shot out of his eyes, brushing down the side of his face, hot and flustered.

"Whoa, easy." Upon the nearest armchair, Sam perched, book in hand reading some volume of myth lore. "You okay?" He approached the bed carefully, while trying to banish the concern off his face and doing a miserable job of it.

"Yeah," Dean let the cool air of the ceiling fan calm him before speaking again. The blond leaned back, flopping on the bed terribly tired, managing only to keep his head level on the headboard. "I'm fine, I think."

"Dream?"

"Yeah. Felt pretty real." His eyes darted, inspecting the room for anything unusual or simply a way to confirm he no longer walked in that dream.

"Memory?"

"I-- I don't know. It's just--"

"Thing haunt you, but you have to know that I want--"

"I'm okay, Sam. I mean we're alive, aren't we?" Dean smiled briefly, his troubled mind finding peace and comfort in moments of small talk.

"Sometimes is difficult to tell." he chuckled. "You want to…uh...talk…uhhh…"

"Nah, but I think I'm not a complete bastard." He smirked, lowering his voice.

"Why would you say that? You can't believe this is your fault anymore. If I have to beat-"

"I'll tell you one day."

"Uh…"

"I will- not now." Sitting up, Dean kicked the Bible at his feet. Had his reflexes not been so honed, it would have clattered on the floor. His fingers scrambled, digging into and holding it by the pages. When he let if flop on the mattress, the Bible landed open and splayed out as if as worn as he had felt a second ago. A small blue circle encased a passage.

But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.

A light breeze caressed his cheek, which startled him with the creeps imbedding in his spine. Finally, he glanced up enough to notice ceiling fan spinning on high and slowly began to relax his battered muscles, guilt fogged mind, and shattered self worth. It had been a difficult, distressing day that had culminated in a wild maybe true dream.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"May be 16 years too late, but I'm sorry."

"You're acting pretty strange. I- Dean whatever you need, I'll make sure it happens, but you can't go on like this. The not sleeping- the not eating- the days of hunting that run together that makes it seem like you are trying to break a world record in killing bad guys. Candle at both ends, dude. Hell, in your case, dynamite burning at both ends. You're human- not- You're scaring me. I can't lose you, don't you get it."

With just a smile, Dean tossed a pillow at his baby brother. "I'm not planning on going anywhere, except maybe Vegas.

"I don't want you to take risks, to get careless, to stop fighting for your life... just because--"

"You forgive me?"

"For What!?"

"For leaving you." A remnant of doubt surfaced without meaning to. "All of it."

"Dean- I--"

"Just accept the apology, Sammy."

Sam leaned his head back, glancing at Dean in an odd angle as if his brother had just turned into a Muppet. "Yeah!" he agreed. "Okay. I- I guess. " When he looked again at his big brother, Dean's face was lighter and less burdened. "But, you have nothing to apologize for."

Forgiveness astounded him and calmed his frantic heart. A long pause wedged inside of him before Dean could speak again. He hadn't dreamed, when he had first asked, how important- like his life may mean something- those words would feel.

"I'm here, Dean. I want to get you through this- whatever it takes. I swear we'll end this- for Mom, for Jess, for Dad, for you. Not just for them. We'll find the source and save everyone. And no more sacrifices from you to do it. But, you have to work with me, meet me halfway..." Sam's feeling swooped down on him, overwhelming and hot. He believed in Dean. If no one else would, he knew deep down his big brother would fight alongside him because he was good and decent. Sam pushed the takeout bag, expecting to toss it like so many other meals. "Like taking care of yourself and food on occasion."

"What'd ya get?"

"Pie." Sam joked.

"What kind?"

"Blackberry."

"My favorite." All of a sudden, Dean felt famished. The burden unraveled, guts untying knots, letting his empty stomach take reign. If he had been standing, he would have fallen backwards at the realization that he was craving food again. He snatched the bag, from Sam's hang, digging into the contents.

"I thought Peach was your favorite."

"Well, yeah. But apple too."

"You really are hopeless, you know that?"

"Oh, yeah! But, it's hard to be this cool all the time."

Rolling his eyes, Sam's breath betrayed his fake playfulness. "There's a cheeseburger, chili fries, onion rings and...." Sam smiled, letting out a sigh of relief that pulled his composure together. The strained void that was left by Dean's death imploded his insides to a murky mess, and only now did he feel like it could heal. Nothing was important or worth a damn without Dean. How could it be? "Can you forgive me, Dean?"

"That you forgot the ketchup?"

"No. That I left you and I wasn't the one who brought you back."

"Sure you did, Sammy. Sure you did."

"I don't-"

"Doesn't matter. I forgive you, too. "

* * *

*********The End*********


End file.
